The Power of Storytelling in Activism

When I heard the news of the shooting at UCSB on Saturday, I worked myself up into a tornado of anger, my body trembling at the dangerous reality of a narrative I had condemned for years: the friendzone. 

Next, I made the mistake of engaging social media. I read tweets attempting to pin the tragedy on mental illness, a scapegoat used to explain nearly every murder spree. Such a trope simultaneously reinforces stigma associated with mental illness and covers up any underlying and systematic forces that may be at play: in this case, misogyny (see Jessica Valenti's article on The Guardian). 

When I suggested that the force of internalized and systematic misogyny were at the root of Elliot Rodger's deadly actions on Saturday, someone accused me of misandry. This is when my feminism turned radical. 

When I call myself a radical feminist, I feel it important to explain myself, not because I owe it to skeptics of the feminist movement, but because I owe it to the wide-eyed, budding young feminists who are watching me. When I say radical, I do not mean Radical; I do not wish or fight for a flip of the gender hierarchy. I do not want matriarchy.

Sustainable gender equality and justice is still my goal. But owning the label as a radical feminist means I recognize that these tragedies are not isolated incidents. It means that I am attuned to the systematic sexism at play in these instances of violence. It means that I recognize the importance of other identities that intersect with gender identity in feminism: sexual orientation, socioeconomic status, race, age, etc. It means that I recognize the privilege it takes to express hurt feelings over generalizations a woman may make when she speaks out against sexism. It means that I must constantly educate myself and others. Finally, it means that I recognize what it takes to end injustices like the gender violence Rodger committed and to tackle misogyny: political activism, community, and storytelling.

The shooting shook me up so much that I only slept for two hours, uninterrupted, on Saturday night.  But the next day, I found hope in the #YesAllWomen tag on Twitter and on Facebook. 

People often accuse my fellow Millennials and me, the Me Me Me Generation, of slacktivism. Our concern for social issues that's somehow important enough to post about on social media but that does not extend to public action puzzles them. Indeed, sometimes I wish we would remove ourselves from the proverbial couches and act in the community. But that point ignores the power of community that happens when we share our stories on the Internet.

The #YesAllWomen tag featured women from all over the country who shared similar stories of unwanted advances, abuse, assault, and violence by men. Women expressed the fear of being attacked that is present everywhere they go. They shared stories of guilt and fear when they rejected advances by men. And they shared stories of men they knew in schools, in the workplace, and in homes acting with anger or violence toward them.

These stories will not deter the violence committed by people like Rodger, but they do bring women together, and they do serve as catalysts for community outreach and action. The #YesAllWomen tag showed that we are in this together, that all of our stories matter, and that we are through with silence. The tag is an act of social resistance.

Stories are what connect us, far more than any abstract claims. Stories bring out our humanity. They demonstrate our shortcomings, our brokenness, our suffering, and our pain. They put human faces to statistics. And they reveal that others are scared, suffering, and hurt, too. Stories say we aren't alone. Stories say there is hope.

Radical feminism means I am committed to sharing my story and to listening to yours.

In the Name of Being Honest

"[It was] so casually cruel in the name of being honest." -Taylor Swift

In a culture that I sometimes feel celebrates unity to the exclusion of diversity and urges homogeneity, I appreciate honesty and authenticity. In other words, I am attracted both platonically and romantically to people who express themselves with transparency and without apology or explanation. I like hanging out with people who would rather be themselves than anyone else. I like sharing space with people who speak from the true nature of their hearts and minds, rather than from their perception of what others will think of them.

At the same time, I value people who do this with kindness and respect to others. I strive to be like Ginnifer Goodwin's portrayal of Snow White on ABC's Once Upon a Time, and also like my dear friend, Grace, both of whom will greet everyone they meet with genuine gentleness in their eyes but won't shy away from telling people how they truly feel or telling loved ones what they need to hear.

Some may argue that honesty and kindness cannot go together, that kindness must sometimes be sacrificed in the name of being honest. But I think that is a grave misinterpretation of honesty. 

Oftentimes, people respond to disgusted reactions to their own unkind remarks with the expression "at least I'm being honest." But to me, this expression evokes bluntness, not to be confused with the virtue honesty, two words which I believe we should stop conflating.

While honesty, by nature, relates to authenticity, integrity, and an ethical principle for always shedding light on truth, bluntness is characterized by abruptness in speech and often a disregard for emotion and tact. A person demonstrates honesty when he/she says, "Pay attention to dynamics when playing the piano." A person exhibits bluntness when he/she says, "If I were a judge in the piano competition and you played this piece like that, I would want to rip it up." In the same situation, one person aims to elicit growth, and the other aims to tear down.

In fact, bluntness, while arguably a lexical foil of euphemism, a figure of speech used to conjure less emotion and soften the blow of a painful reality, often occurs for the same purpose as euphemism: hiding from reality.

Honesty takes courage, resilience, and guts. Honesty is standing up for truth, even if it takes quivering voices and trembling bodies. Honesty is nakedness and exposure. By contrast, people use bluntness as a crutch that somehow justifies their rude or unkind behavior. When people are blunt, they hide behind the thinly veiled facade of honesty so they can let themselves off the hook for the hurt they spark in others' eyes. 

Conflating honesty and bluntness discolors the virtue of honesty and at the same time obstructs the focus of the virtue: the healthy pursuit of truth and growth. 

In writerly terms, honesty is a constructive literary critic who values workshop and revision as a process of creativity. Bluntness, on the other hand, is a bad parent critic who hovers over writers' shoulders and hurls cruelty at them as they write, stifling both creativity and growth.

In biblical terms, honesty is the Gospel of mercy, grace, and justice; bluntness is judgment and condemnation. Jesus was honest, calling out injustices and hypocrisy, showing people how to love, and demonstrating through storytelling how current practices and behaviors were harmful at both the individual and societal level. While Jesus was radical in his condemnation of the internal structures of harmful systems and even individual practices of hatred and hypocrisy, Jesus greeted all people with love and gentleness. 

If we are serious about cultivating growth, love, and justice in our society, we should deconstruct two practices: (1) the conflating of honesty and bluntness and (2) the separating of honesty and kindness.

When both kindness and honesty meet, the result is a course of action: flipping over tables, washing feet, and shifting paradigms with parables, all in the name of remembering the least of these: all of us. 

Bluntness just crucifies.